Mad Season (Matthias)

[Zephyr]

Silas is getting the biggest sense of déjà vu. Maybe it’s because he’s been in a similar situation before. Well, similar. The wound on his right arm isn’t as bad as when the silver bullet had been in his shoulder, at least this time he didn’t get the bright idea to shift while he had a poisonous bullet in his shoulder. The bullet is gone, but the poison remains. His arm is done up in a cast, and he knows he should be in bed because he’s still feverish, but doing nothing is not something Silas has always been particularly good at.

Sure, he can lay in bed all day after a night at work, but he hasn’t even been allowed to work. He just finds himself horribly bored. He’s also been putting off contacting Matthias because he doesn’t want the brat to worry about him, but he knows if the man goes to the hospital to see him, he’ll just come looking for him anyway when he doesn’t find him there.

So, the text he sends Matthias is simple.

/I couldn’t go to work. I got hurt. Can you meet me at my apartment?/

He doesn’t think he needs to put how he had been hurt in the message. Matthias will see soon enough if he decides to take Silas up on his invitation. For the moment though, Silas is bored as fuck, and a bored Silas isn’t a good thing. He spends time rifling through the things in his refrigerator, wondering how edible something would be if he just mixes everything together. He finally decides to just go out for breakfast on his own, and though the pale doctor with the cast on his arm gets looks, he wards them off with a few glares and choice words. When he gets home, he wanders around his apartment for a while, trying to resist the allure of alcohol.

And it would be so easy to drink the pain away, because he is in pain. The wound’s been shoddily stitched up, and even the slightest movements sent pain shooting through his arm. By mid-morning, he’s laid sprawled out on his face on the couch because it hurts too much to lie on his back. He’s seriously reconsidering the alcohol thing right about now, and wishes that he could just fucking go back to sleep, but he knows it won’t come.

[Matthias Walker]

A year ago, the text would have meant nothing.

It does not reek of urgency or death, and for all that it mentions getting hurt, it’s still vague enough that Mattie would have let it sit, unanswered. It sounds like I need a favor or Come keep me company, and hunting has always taken precedence over favors and friendship. Chasing down every stray text is not, and, Matthias promises himself, will not become, part of his job, and perhaps if he cared less it could have gone ignored, but there is no concealing the sick way his stomach drops with the three neat little sentences of text. Silas is not stupid enough to panic over a paper cut, and while Boston is not an inherently dangerous place, Silas, he finds, has a nasty habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Not long ago Matthias thought he was done chasing after the werewolf, picking up the pieces, begging him to be more careful. More recently, he’d the audacity to think that Silas got it, that he wouldn’t have to be constantly on edge for somebody else.

The text shines up at him, short, innocuous, undemanding, and Matthias hesitates over the answer. There is nothing wrong with texting back for details, with declining because he has other plans that are a matter of life and death, albeit for strangers and without an impending deadline. Vampires aren’t going to reschedule, and Mattie is a hunter, not a companion, but it’s Silas casually mentioning injuries, Silas hurt badly enough to miss work, Silas asking for him.

Standing in front of his car, sharpened stake in his hand, Mattie blows out a long breath, sick with frustration at his own ability to say no, and texts back.

I’ll be over in a couple minutes. Sit tight.

The stake is thrown back into the trunk, the car locked again, and Matthias pushes away from it, one hand carding through his hair. So the hunt is being pushed back: At least for a few hours, if not another day. Well, so be it; if nothing else at least maybe Cesan will be able to come when Mattie next gets the chance to track down the vampire. More concerning is the vagueness of Silas’s text. Hurt is a blanket term; hurt can be anything from a scraped knee to broken bones, and with Silas’s luck, Matthias is inclined to expect the worst.

When he reaches Silas’s apartment, he lets himself in without knocking and earns a moment of sharp terror for his troubles when a too-quick sweep of blue eyes around the room takes in Silas sprawled onto the couch. Then details come, and Matthias breathes out, steps over to kneel on the floor at the foot of the couch, peering at him speculatively. Mattie may not be a doctor, but to his unpracticed eye, Silas looks, if a little pale, largely unhurt—save for the cast around his arm and the fact that,

“Could you look any more like you’re in a coma?” The relief is misplaced, he knows, and despite the tease his eyes remain grave. “What happened?” His gaze flickers, and fingers brush against the edge of the cast—thoughtful. There are only so many things a werewolf cannot brush off—bones broken, silver poisoning, and none of them are prone to be accidents.

[/font]

[Zephyr]

He doesn’t even jump at the sound of his door opening. Maybe he never stopped being used to Matthias just coming in whenever he wants. It’s a nice feeling, and he knows it won’t last once Matthias leaves, once Cesan’s scent washes over the werewolf, but he’s nothing if not good at hiding how he feels, and the wolf pulls a face at Matthias’ words, shifting his gaze to look over at where the hunter sits on the floor. In the past, Silas might have tried to brush off Matthias’ concern, but not now, not when he’s trying desperately not to push the other man away.

“I got shot.” Silas says with his nose wrinkled, trying out a little pout that just makes him feel ridiculous. He wiggles out of the cast with a hiss of pain as Matthias touches the thing, trying to awkwardly claw his shirt up over his arm so the hunter can see while simultaneously attempting to explain himself before Matthias has a chance to say anything. “And no, It wasn’t my fault. I was just working and someone appeared out of nowhere with a fucking gun.”

Silas sighs heavily, sinking down into the cushions. The exhaustion from the fever is finally taking its toll on him and Silas looks over at Matthias. “Sorry I asked you to come over. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t go to the hospital.” He snorts, pressing his face into the cushion a little like he’s almost ashamed of himself…and he kind of is. What kind of idiot gets himself shot twice? The words that leave his mouth are soft, and he doesn’t quite believe them. “Didn’t want you to worry.” And it’s stupid to think Matthias wouldn’t worry. Isn’t he the one who found him in the alley? He didn’t have to be there then.

“M’okay though.” He says at last, pulling his face back out of the cushions to look at Matthias and push himself up into a sitting position. He’s a little dizzy at first, but it passes quickly enough when he leans back against the arm of the couch, looking at the hunter. “So yeah. There’s that. Just wanted you to know what was going on.” And it’s stupid, he knows, having dragged Matthias all the way here just to look at a gunshot wound. It isn’t particularly interesting, and it isn’t like the werewolf is in danger of dying or anything.

Maybe, just maybe, Silas wanted to See Matthias; wanted an excuse for Matthias to not be around Cesan, even for a short while. Because Silas hasn’t forgotten his own feelings; how much he wants to reach out and pull Matthias to him…but he resists, because Matthias doesn’t want him, and no amount of unwanted affection on the doctor’s part is going to change that. “I didn’t pull you away from anything important, did I?” And the number of things that Matthias could have been doing that break Silas’ heart are in the hundreds, but he manages a rare smile just for the brat.

[Matthias Walker]

Despite Silas’s petulance, despite the easy way he dismisses it, the simplicity of the statement has Matthias’s stomach flipping, jaw clenching and eyes sharpening as Silas obligingly wriggles out of the cast. He half-listens as the werewolf talks in favor of leaning forward over the bared skin, fingers pressing lightly against the edges of the ragged stitches; a frown furrows his brows at the sight of the dark, irregular work. Of course Silas couldn’t do it himself, but there is no excuse for the sloppy work. “I always worry,” Mattie mumbles, and is not too distracted by the unpleasant thoughts taking form to smile wryly at Silas, “You’re a fucking magnet for this kind of shit.”

One way or another, it comes down to the pack. Either they pulled the trigger or they failed to protect him, and Matthias knows Silas is not his responsibility, but guilt still drops his gaze away from the doctor’s. There is no need to worry Silas about half-formed uncertainties about a hunter in Boston (who else would shoot a werewolf with a silver bullet—and there is, after all, no other kind of bullet that could leave this kind of damage), and very little he can do about it now and here. Instead he brushes the pads of his fingers over the edge of the stitching, frown deepening at the heat of Silas’s skin around the black thread. “We gotta get this redone, puppy, it’s fixing to scar pretty bad,” the affectionate nickname is absentminded, “Don’t you have nurses to do that or something?”

He rocks back on his heels, looking up at Silas speculatively, and crooks a grin at his question. Important, right. What did he even do anymore that was important?

“Just a hunt.” Once upon a time hunting was important enough to compose a patchwork life from, tied together with worn-out books treated with more dignity than the weapons his father had adored, but it has fallen to the wayside. Just a hunt has never been truer. Staying in Boston changes things, and the idea of a job, of pulling together the kind of life normal people had, has been slowly taking form. Still, hunting remains. Matthias shrugs, ruffling a hand through Silas’s hair as he stands, “Vampire out in the suburbs. I’ll get him tomorrow or in a couple days or something, it’s not a big deal. Stay put—you’ve got needles and scissors and disinfectant and shit in the bathroom, right?”

He offers no pause to wait for the answer; provided Silas has not drastically altered his apartment in Mattie’s absence, he knows the answer. Silas’s apartment is still familiar, and he leaves the man sitting on the couch to dig the appropriate materials out of the bathroom cabinet, tucks the entire First Aid Kit under his elbow and returns to set it down on the couch next to Silas. Halfway through opening it as he drops to his knees in front of the doctor, Matthias pins Silas with an open, questioning look, “—unless you don’t want me to?”

Leaving it is always an option—if not one Mattie has ever been fond of.

[Zephyr]

Having Matthias here is more of a relief than Silas would ever admit, even to himself. There is a sense of everything is going to be alright. He knows that couldn’t be further from the truth, with the threat of the pack and other little things hanging over them, but Silas can almost make himself forget that this isn’t normal. The fact that this is how it should be is unquestionable, at least to Silas. He’s just never had a harder time reading Matthias. The smile he quirks at the kid is tired. He hasn’t been sleeping enough alone in his bed, but that isn’t something Matthias needs to hear. Silas’ dependence on others has never been the greatest topic. “I’m so pretty, everyone wants a piece of me.” His joke is halfhearted, something he can’t bring himself to believe in the least, not with everyone pulling away from him.

But it’s something.

The fingers over his skin cause him to shiver lightly, and he does an excellent job of not jerking away from Matthias at the pain. A scar is the least of his worries, but he humor’s Matthias, the old familiar nickname causing the wolf to growl in contentment, and Silas figures that the fucking bitch would like the goddamn nickname now.

He shrugs at the rest of the comment, “Couldn’t really go to the hospital when the silver poisoning set in.” He’s the one who usually deals with it when any of the pack wolves get shot or stabbed. There are others, but Silas has the most experience with it. He knew about the symptoms, knew how to deal with the fever…and stitches…anyone with decent hand-eye coordination can do stitches. Don’t really need a hospital for that when he’s inevitably going to have to explain why he’s suddenly gone feverish from a bullet in the arm. Eve probably could have helped him out with the stitches, but he hadn’t thought of her, and that thought made him guilty. “I just grabbed someone to stitch it up.” He frowns lightly. “Probably not the greatest idea I’ve had.” Not that Silas has ever been known for his great ideas.

Just a hunt. Silas remembers when Matthias was more passionate about his hunting. A meeting in his office that led to him asking the man to live with him comes to mind. The shivering that takes over Silas’ body has nothing to do with touches or pain, not this time. Memory is a powerful thing, and he remembers how stupid he’d been then. Matthias had given him so many chances, but he’d thrown them all away. He wonders if there’s anything left to rebuild, but he isn’t going to stop trying, not until Matthias makes it clear that he isn’t wanted.

Or he’s dead…whatever comes first.

And isn’t that just an awfully morbid thought. He doesn’t bother moving as Matthias disappears into the bathroom, positions himself so that he’ll have an easier time getting to the wound, pulling his shirt off with some difficulty and a lot of hissing. He lays on his stomach, head resting on his arms as he glances over at Matthias with green-brown eyes, reaching out with his left hand to card long fingers affectionately through the man’s hair. “You’re the only one I’d want doing it if I can’t.” Which isn’t completely out of the question. He just hasn’t tried stitching up his own arm.

Silas gives Matthias a few moments to figure out his plan of action before he speaks again. “Vampire, huh?” The surgeon has never dealt with other supernatural beings a great deal before. The pack has always outsourced some shit to beings who were better able to handle certain matters, but Silas has never had any interaction with them before. Rebekah is the exception to the rule, but it isn’t like he’d been in any position or had any desire to hunt the vampire. Still, this is an opportunity that he knows he can’t let pass by.

And it really does sound like it could be fun, even.

“Can I come?” Silas’ question is simple in its innocence; painful in its earnestness. Silas’ gaze is open as he watches Matthias’ face, and it’s clear that Silas means it; that he wants this. “I mean..” He tempers his request quickly. “I’d like to help, if you’ll have me. Hunting sounds like fun. I know I don’t have much experience…but you could teach me. Who knows? Maybe I could be useful.” And his grin goes jagged at the edges, eyes sparkling with mischievousness. “This puppy can bite.” And his grin melts away into something purely goofy, but he can't help it. He hasn't been this happy in a really fucking long time, and he even has a goddamn hole in his arm.

He's allowed to be a little pleased, and he really does mean it when he says he wants to help.

[Matthias Walker]

“Kinda funny if you think about it,” distracted as Silas runs fingers through his hair and Mattie meets the frank sincerity of his gaze with a crooked smile, “Big scary wolf stalks the night, terrorizes the poor villagers…” Bending over Silas, he cleans his hands with alcohol and wipes down the messy line of stitches, “Undone by pocket jewelry. Must be hard for you, trying to look all fancy with your not-silver cufflinks and shit.” Matthias falls silent, expression settling into concentration, as he carefully picks apart the knot of the stitches and begins to pull away the threads. The wound is still hot to the touch but it is still healing, as he picks up a needle to disinfect and thread.

Silas’s question is met with an absentminded “Mm-hmm,” and Mattie has just applied needle to skin when the next follows on its heels and his surprise translates into a faint tug of eyebrows, fingers keeping the steady, quick pull of needle and thread. “Fun,” he echoes, flatly, but the offer of company is welcome regardless. He pauses in the stitching to look up at Silas, meets the werewolf’s smile with a lopsided grin that cracks into a laugh and a helpless shake of his head, “Yeah, sure, why not, I can teach you. After this,” blue eyes drop to indicate the half-completed stitches, “heals, okay? I’m not dragging you out to hunt while you’re hurt. Shush, let me concentrate.”

The practiced tug of needle and skin, of healing, is therapeutic in a way that loosens the tension from his shoulders. It isn’t so bad that Silas was hurt if Mattie can do something about it, however belated; it is less stressful with Silas smiling at him, conscious, the heat of silver poisoning receding into health.

He ties off the end of the thread, goes over the neat, clean line of stitches with alcohol again, and drops his hands loosely onto his knees, tilting his head to look critically at the sutures before, satisfied, blue eyes meet Silas’s gaze and Mattie crooks a grin at him. “So you want the crash course in hunting or you want to do something more fun?” The echo of Silas’s optimistic suggestion that hunting is fun is deliberate; the tease of flirting is not. He straightens from his kneeling position in front of the couch, setting aside the needle and stray thread, offers Silas a hand to pull him to his feet, “C’mon, I’m glad you got a new couch, but you look sort of like you’re going to go into a coma lying like that.”

Hunting is not something taught easily by word of mouth; it is, as Matthias recalls, a trial by fire lifestyle, and save for the folklore of silver, stakes, and stolen skin, there is very little he can say to prepare Silas for a hunt.

It can, he decides, wait.

“Ice cream,” he decides gravely, arching an expectant eyebrow at the werewolf, “And a movie. Or, I don’t know, you have movies, don’t you? Because I think the alternative is fucking—Truth or Dare or something, but I’m pretty sure ice cream and movies are supposed to be a thing for sick days.”

[/font]

[Zephyr]

A doctor and a werewolf Silas might be, but stitches still hurt. Talking through the pain is something that seems natural to the man, but in lieu of Matthias' request for silence, Silas falls quiet, deciding, instead, that watching Matthias work is the second best way to deal with the pain. He keeps his eyes on the other man's face, gaze catching over the furrow of his brows, and his eyes that are so intent on Silas' wound.

Silas is content to sit just like that and watch Matthias for hours, or at least until Matthias finishes the stitches and then sits back to look at him. Fun probably hadn't been the best term to describe hunting, but for all the werewolf Silas is, it isn't like he leads a particularly exciting life outside of the hospital. The gun chase and the shooting, was an anomaly. Shit like that just doesn't happen to him every day. Plus, the allure of spending more time with Matthias is just too much to resist.

He snorts at the kid, but stands when the other man's hand is offered to him, cracking a grin and looking down at the neat line of stitches on his arm. "I think Evelyn is going to be jealous." The doctor teases with a smile. "You're the best nurse I think I've had." And his grin is just this side of teasing when he looks back up at Matthias. "You're definitely the prettiest." The flirting is there, but it's tempered by the mischievous glint in the doctor's eyes and the way he smiles at the other man.

The idea of ice cream and a movie is innocent enough and Silas is briefly surprised by the abrupt change in conversation. From hunting to movies. The fact that he doesn't really like sitting down and watching movies much anymore is something that the surgeon quickly abandons in favor of spending more time with Matthias, and Silas lifts his eyebrows at Matthias as he forgets completely about his shirt and walks towards his bedroom. "Go pick out some ice cream. I'm afraid the choices are rather limited though." Silas hasn't been able to break the habit of coffee and peach flavored ice cream, so those are the only two flavors Matthias has to choose from.

Movies, Silas decides, when he gets into his bedroom, are also something with limited choices. He has a few movies, though, not anything he's be particularly proud to admit to in public company. The one he ultimately decides on, while a cheesy romantic comedy of epic proportions, is also the lesser of two evils, and he hurries to get it into the dvd player before Matthias can see the case and decide to tease him for it. Silas quickly stuffs the case beneath a pillow and turns the television on, pulling a frown in the direction of the kitchen before falling back onto the couch.

"Fuck, you're slow! I already have the movie innnn." Silas fakes a whine, tilting his head back to watch the path Matthias takes from the kitchen when the other man finally deigns to come out.

[Matthias Walker]

“Maybe, but I won’t wear a miniskirt for you.”

For all that the tease is accompanied by the flash of an easy grin and a hooded gaze as he pulls Silas to his feet, Mattie steps away in the next moment. Flirting comes as natural as breathing, does not have to mean anything even with late night confessions still gone unanswered; Silas may have been one night stand first, but he is friend before anything else. A movie and comfort food are more innocent, more platonic, than anything else Matthias can think of to offer—Silas is hurt, requires distraction, and this is easy, mindless. He waves one hand in a gesture that is half-salute and half-dismissal at Silas’s answer, already turning away towards the kitchen.

Finding Silas’s hoard of ice cream, at least, is a simpler matter than finding actual food in the desert that is his kitchen, and Mattie mulls over the options absently. Coffee is so utterly predictable it’s kind of funny in its own right; peach, though, strikes him as more appropriate for a day spent lolling on a couch with a movie playing. He prowls, indulgently lazy, around the kitchen in search of spoons and bowls, and gives up on the bowls entirely when Silas starts fucking whining at him.

“Hold your fucking horses,” he yells back, “I can’t just whip spoons out of my ass, I’m coming.”

Indignant response aside, he makes it back to the living room, drops the entire carton of peach ice cream into Silas’s lap as he flops onto the couch next to the werewolf, one spoon in his mouth and the other held out for the doctor. Then Matthias’s gaze settles onto the opening credits and title of the movie appearing on the television screen, and for a moment he blinks at it, utterly uncomprehending. Then he slants a glance at Silas, mischief and amusement turning up the corner of his mouth and spilling into a laugh around the spoon still caught between his teeth, “Y’know, even the girls I dated usually waited at least a few months before they pulled out the cheesy rom-coms.”

He plucks the spoon from his mouth, leans over to steal a generous mouthful of ice cream from the carton, and, arching an eyebrow at Silas, quotes in a falsetto with utmost gravity, “‘I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so badly.’” The contrived, naïve expression dissolves after a second into a snicker, and Mattie kicks off his shoes and pulls his feet up onto the couch, nudges Silas’s thigh with his knee, a challenge in the curve of his grin, “Bet I can out-quote you, old man.”

[Zephyr]

"I'd like to see what you can whip out your ass!" Silas yells towards the kitchen, blatant amusement in his tone. He is just so fucking done censoring himself. He's been so careful around Matthias, trying desperately not to say anything that would be construed as romantic because he wasn't sure that's what the other man wanted...but he hasn't chased Matthias away yet, not with the absent flirting that he can't seem to control...not around Matthias. He wonders if it's even possible to scare the kid away again.

Silently, he hopes and prays that it isn't. He isn't sure what he'd do without Matthias, honestly.

Silas gives an indignant squeak when the carton falls into his lap, jumping two feet into the air and nearly hurling the entire thing back at Matthias. "God, you fucking brat!" Silas roars, only just managing not to eject the ice cream somewhere in the other man's general vicinity. "That's goddamn cold!" The doctor settles back onto the couch, grumbling lightly to himself, jerking the proffered spoon out of Matthias' hand and sulkily busying himself with opening the carton of ice cream.

He almost doesn't see the glance; the mischief in the other man's eyes. He has a mouthful of ice cream, spoon dangling ungracefully from his mouth when Matthias speaks and Silas realizes the implications of his words. The doctor blinks at the other man for a moment, until a vicious blush spreads over his face. He kind of just wants to burrow his way beneath the couch cushions and just fucking stay there for a whole year. "It's all I fucking had!" Silas growls defensively, not quite able to stem the tide of the flush that seems to overtake his whole face. "You should have fucking brought something if you wanted something manlier, you bitch!"

He isn't sure what's causing the blush, maybe the heat in his stomach at the words 'I dated'. Regardless, Silas has the presence of mind to growl grumpily at the man, feigning a possessive snarl when Matthias steals from the carton. He snorts at the quoted line, though a ghost of an amused and endlessly pleased smile quirks the corners of his mouth. It's a genuinely happy smile; would be a face wide thing if it'd been anyone else bust Silas. He beams at the brat, then laughs, leans back in the couch cushions as the laughter takes over his body.

Silas ends up leaning back in the couch, nudging Matthias' legs with his feet, flashing the other man a toothy grin. "You are such a fucking dork. Do you know that? I can't quote a goddamn thing from the fucking movie." He sprawls back, balancing the ice cream perilously, glancing over at the television.

[Matthias Walker]

“Aw,” Mattie says, blinking at Silas and arching his eyebrows at the werewolf’s blush, and it requires more maturity than Matthias has ever possessed to not tease Silas, “Is the puppy embarrassed? Poor baby, hiding in his cold ice cream.” As the intro music comes on and Mattie sticks out his tongue at Silas’s growling, twisting closer to angle his spoon in for more ice cream, he unrepentantly stretches out over every inch of the couch that Silas does not occupy. The movie is, surprisingly, one Mattie is familiar with—albeit five years faded in his memory—and as he stretches out across the couch, his focus is more on Silas, the doctor’s grin, his laugh, than the romance and comedy happening on the screen.

The insults are taken in stride; that Silas smiles is indication enough that there is no sting behind the bitching, and Mattie has always been good at giving as good as he got anyway, “Fuck you, man, I’ve seen this fucking movie so many times—you’re actually the girl I dated in college or something, she had a thing for ice cream too.” For a moment his expression settles into mock-thoughtful gravity, and then, “Mind you, she never had stubble. Or a dick. Also she was actually classy, which, no offense, suits aside, man, you curse like a fucking sailor.”

He straightens, holds up his hands, spoon clasped in his fingers like a large silver cigarette, to keep Silas silent, concentrating, as the music fades, parrots along with the movie, expression exaggeratedly animated. “‘This is amazing, listen to this, the entire work force of the state of Virginia had to have Solitaire removed from their computers, because they hadn’t done any work in six weeks,’ ‘That’s so sad’…” he offers a dramatic pause for effect, and in a conspiratorial whisper adds, “Like your poor delusional life ’cause that chick is totally gonna ditch your ass.”

Sort of.

Mattie quirks a grin at Silas, leans in to waggle his eyebrows at him, “Bet you make coffee nervous. How the fuck do you not know quotes from this thing? Five years, dude, I’ve had five years to forget it. C’mon, you’re holding out on me, you gotta be.”

[Zephyr]

"Wow." Silas muses, snorting at Matthias as the kid goes in for more ice cream. He actually does not kick the other man, as much as he wants to. Instead, the surgeon's grin is nothing short of teasing. "You mean there's someone who can actually stand being around you? Someone with actual breasts and everything?" His expression quickly shifts into a mock frown and he petulantly pulls the carton of ice cream away from Matthias, sticking his tongue out at the other man for good measure. "Fuck you very much." Silas growls, not realizing that he's proving Matthias' point exactly. "I'm fucking classy as hell, you little shit. No more ice cream for you."

That's when the quotes start, and Silas stares at the man in uncomprehending hilarity for a moment. He busts out in laughter, too busy being thoroughly amused to guard his ice cream from the other man's greedy hands for the time being. "It's because I don't spend my time watching shitty romcoms." The doctor grins all toothy. "Kind of a little too busy saving people's lives...something that you've benefitted from once of twice if I remember correctly."

He's still smiling, the expression on his face beaming as he looks up at Matthias. The man searches his brain for any quotes from the fucking movie, but for the life of him, he cannot actually come up with any.

After a while, his brain stops trying to think of quotes and focus on how close Matthias is; how he's leaning over him, and despite the face that he's still smiling, he’s no longer thinking about the movie at all, but instead his eyes are zeroing in on Matthias’ lips. He knows that it’s a stupid thing to do, that nothing Matthias has done has indicated that the man wants this…but Silas can’t stop himself.

In a second, his smile disappears, and, impulsively, he leans forward, pressing his lips against Matthias’ in a kiss that has everything to do with affection, eyes slipping tightly shut. Silas forgets about the ice cream, letting it fall to the floor as he leans into the kiss, sitting them both up and pressing Matthias back against the arm of the couch, sealing their lips more tightly together, one hand clamped on the other man’s hip and the other seeking purchase in his hair.

The part of his brain that isn’t currently consumed with the kiss knows this is an awful idea; that Matthias doesn’t actually want him, no matter how much the other man likes being around him. He knows Matthias will push him away, reject him like everyone else has, but Silas really can’t help himself at the moment. The other man is all he sees and all he wants, and in a second, the hand on Matthias’ hip slips up to graze warm skin beneath the man’s shirt.

[Matthias Walker]

“Asshole,” Matthias says feelingly, and sticks out his tongue; it is a brief but fitting rejoinder to both Silas’s opinion on his ability to hold an actual relationship with an actual woman and to the cruelty of being refused ice cream. He sticks the spoon into his mouth, though, refuses to let Silas get away without at least one quote—it is his stupid rom-com; there is no excuse for not knowing what happens in a movie that he owns—arches an eyebrow expectantly. The movie itself is allowed to run unnoticed; Silas with the look of concentration caught in his eyes and the smile still crooked over his mouth is a distraction he has sorely missed, and he brandishes the spoon in the beginnings of a triumphant gesture, smirking as if intimate knowledge of rom-com quotes is something to be proud of.

And then Silas’s attention shifts down and the man leans in and kisses him.

As surprises go it is a largely pleasant one; Mattie’s lips are cold from the ice cream and the shock of Silas’s warmth against his mouth and the points of contact where he pushes him back against the couch keep him pliant. He breathes out, shaky, startled, as the once-chaste kiss turns deeper, and with his eyes closed and the movie playing on, rambling to itself in the background, he drops the spoon to one side, fingers knotting into Silas’s shirt. Selfish, greedy for it, and even in his trembling moment of hesitation Mattie lets it go on, even pulls Silas closer.

It’s nice to be wanted, even nicer to be wanted by Silas, and the temptation to just give Silas anything he wants trembles in his chest for a moment, twists sick in the pit of his stomach. Then Mattie turns away, guilt already settling cold in the wake of heady attraction. If he has not been exactly prone to monogamy for the past five years, neither has he ever been prone to infidelity (albeit arguably only for the simple reason that a string of one night stands does not exactly leave room for even the option of infidelity), and at the end of the day it is still Cesan he is going back to—home to.

His grip neither loosens nor tightens on Silas’s shirt, but blue eyes drop away from Silas and this is guilt in its own way, too, knowing that he can give Silas this and that he is stupid or asshole or loyal enough to refuse. For a moment Mattie is silent, and then he lets go of Silas to very carefully, mutely, pick up the dropped ice cream to set it upright on the coffee table; in the background women discuss cybersex in a bookstore. What it comes down to is that Cesan deserves better than this, and God, Silas does, too, but Matthias is selfish enough to want everything he can get of both of them, and just smart enough to know better.

“I’m not doing this.” He looks up at Silas, finally, apologetic, “I’m sorry, but I’m not—I can’t fuck up anymore.”

[Zephyr]

It’s the return of the kiss that seals thing for Silas. Matthias wants this. Even if he’s with Cesan, Matthias wants Silas. Probably had since before Nathan left. Silas had been too stupid; caught up in the moment to notice it. He knows it’s his fault they’re in the situation that they’re in now, and even as his lips are pressed to Matthias’, he feels completely compelled to fix it.

Fixing it, it seems, comes in the form of licking into Matthias’ mouth, the movements of his tongue deliberate. The hard press of another body is something Silas has missed badly, and he doesn’t waste any time in the wake of Matthias’ acceptance. He presses his hand up farther beneath the man’s shirt, fingers dancing over his stomach for a moment before Matthias pulls away.

For a moment, Silas isn’t exactly she what’s gone on. He hovers over Matthias, hand still pressed up stubbornly beneath the man’s shirt, fingers light on his skin. Then the doctor’s eyes flutter open and he watches Matthias, lips slightly parted as his breath comes out hot. He trembles on the edge, wanting Matthias so badly that he doesn’t quite understand the meaning of the other man’s actions…not until Matthias looks at him and speaks and Silas only stares at him.

Frustration and attraction boil up in the doctor at being rejected. He knew it would probably happen, but not after Matthias had fucking kissed back. This isn’t how the story is supposed to go, this isn’t right, and for all that Silas knows what it feels like to be the one cheated on, he cannot help but want this with all of his being. He can’t spend time worrying about the wellbeing of a man he cannot possibly ever like, not while he’s the reason Matthias is rejecting him.

He’s visibly trembling, uncertainty bright on his face for a fraction of a second before he shutters his eyes. They go hooded, and Silas growls, the sound decidedly feral and possessive and indicative of the fact that he wishes to claim the other man with everything that he is. His hand disappears from under Matthias’ shirt; grabs his hands in one deft motion. He holds the man’s wrists in an iron grip and stretches them far up over his head. Matthias might be a hunter; might be strong, but he is no match for a werewolf – especially a sexually frustrated one.

“Why would you deny yourself this?” Silas’ voice is rough and heady, his gave penetrative and predatory. Why would you deny me this? “Does he even know?” The wolf’s gaze roams over the man’s face, seeking an answer before he lets out a growl, free hand tightening bruise tight over the man’s hip. “Does he know how you like it?” The doctor’s voice is rough with its growl, and he lets his lips hover inches from Matthias’ face; teasing. “Because I do.” He lets his head dip down then, scrapes his teeth down the rough stubble beneath Matthias’ jaw; down his throat and over his adam’s apple. He ends up kissing at the hollow of Matthias’ neck, moving to suck a mark at the join of neck and shoulder. “I know you better than he ever will.” His voice is soft now as he speaks lightly into Matthias’ skin, no boasting in there, just a sad certainty, though his grip doesn’t lessen and in a second, his gaze is jerked back, pinning Matthias with a look as much as he’s pinning him with his hands and body tight against his chest.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want me.” And his body is trembling as he holds Matthias there. If the other man decides he doesn’t want him, Silas will let him go, even if it’ll hurt more than anything to let him walk out the door.

[Matthias Walker]

In retrospect, expecting Silas to play it off like nothing had happened was foolish; being able to pick up the ice cream and resume watching the movie seems a very distant impossibility. But there is a moment when Silas looks at him, eyes wide and uncertain, that Mattie thinks that yes, maybe, maybe they can brush past it, move on, that it does not have to become something Cesan needs to know about. A kiss is nothing; a kiss can be ignorable if Silas lets it be, and looking up at him, his heartbeat loud in his chest and fingers still catching against the fabric of his shirt, Matthias has no idea how there will be any sort of graceful conclusion to this, wets his lips to offer Silas some kind of out—

And then the werewolf’s expression changes, and the words choke into a stuttered exhale as Silas yanks his hands over his head. Being pinned has him instinctively jerking against Silas’s grip, tensing under the man’s weight, but there is no leverage being held down like this and when Silas speaks, Mattie stills, swallowing against the surge of adrenaline as he meets the sharp green-brown eyes, breath coming harsher. The questions have his gaze faltering, dropping away from Silas; there is no universe in which he wants to discuss Cesan with Silas pressing bruises into his hip and dragging his mouth over his jaw and neck. And even though, yes, he likes it, he wants, the uncomfortable guilt is still heavy in the pit of his stomach and he yanks against Silas’s hold on his wrists again at the scrape of teeth over skin with a gasped, “Silas—”

There will be a mark, and he does not want to be the one to explain it, but somehow when Silas pulls back and gives him a way out, the protest dies on his lips. However skewed, it’s true enough; Silas knows him well enough to play him exactly how he wants, and it just isn’t black and white enough for him to dismiss Silas with a laugh and a wave.

He stares up at Silas, mouth half-open on a silent answer, eyebrows knitting together, waiting for the right answer to miraculously dawn. It should be such a simple matter to lie, to look Silas in the eye and tell him no, that there was no part of this that he wants, that Cesan will be waiting for him come evening and Mattie has always figured himself too faithful to crawl back reeking of sex and another man. This is not, was never, supposed to happen; it’s one thing to have a crush on someone else but entirely another for it to be requited and acted upon.

“You know I won’t lie to you,” half an accusation in the whisper, as if it’s somehow Silas’s fault, and Matthias has no idea if he is giving permission or asking forgiveness or both in one fell swoop. The inadequacy of the answer does not escape him, but then, is it even his decision—saying no to Silas has never been quite possible. Maybe if he hadn’t been so close; maybe if the ugly greedy desire to take whatever Silas is offering weren’t nestled so deep. “Silas,” it comes out too close to begging, but whether for Silas to let him go or for something else entirely, Mattie does not know, not when the spark of nerves under the too-tight pressure of Silas’s fingers shudder down his spine and, oh God, “Please. I’m fucking trying, I can’t do this.”

[Zephyr]

There is a heartbeat of a moment, the taste of Matthias’ skin still on his tongue, where Silas is sure Matthias is going to tell him no. A moment where Silas will have to let the other man go and watch him walk out of his life, because for all that he wants, he is not going to take someone against their will. There is nothing in that for him but sex, and while that in and of itself can be a good enough motivator for most things, this is not one of them. But Matthias is amazingly reactive to his touch; to his hands, holding tight to the other man’s wrists, to his fingers, pressing hard on his hips.

Matthias’ words are harsh in the man’s ear, and Silas knew. He fucking knew that Matthias wanted him. If there’s any more to it than simple lust, he doesn’t know. He does know that his own feelings run deeper than that. Silas shivers under Matthias’ words, dragging his tongue in a slow, torturous path from the man’s throat to his collarbone; gut twisting as the man keeps speaking.

“What are you trying?” The werewolf’s words are rumbling growls, ripped roughly from his chest. He barely lifts his head from the hunter’s chest, breath hot against wet skin. “Trying to be faithful to someone who can never give you what I can, or trying your damdest not to give in because you know it’s true?” He knows, all at once that they are one in the same. He remembers how he felt when Nathan cheated on him, but knows it’s different. There was no love there, as much as he thought there had been…just lust and confusion and this is different. He does love Matthias.

And Silas knows that Matthias has all but given him permission, despite the hunter’s words. The man’s body and tone and body language paints and entirely different picture, and Silas knows that if he just pushes a little bit more that Matthias will give in, that Silas can just take until there’s nothing left to give; show him just why he’s better for him than anyone else will ever be.

It’s because Silas loves Matthias that he hesitates, caught on the edge of something more than just lust. It’s the love that possesses him to want to be something more than just a quick fuck…something more than just the guilt that keeps Matthias awake at night in someone else’s bed. He’s learned not to hold onto something too tightly, not to try to force himself into someone’s life. For the first time, Silas is visibly hesitating. His entire body is trembling with the urge to just take. Matthias is offering to give everything to him, so why not just go for it? The wolf is hot and howling and wants whatever the hunter is going to give, and the man isn’t far behind…the difference between man and beast is the love, however.

His gaze searches Matthias, brown and green eyes bright and sharp, looking for something that he isn’t quite sure he can name. Then, like someone turned something off in Silas, he deflates, letting go of Matthias’ hands and dropping his head to the man’s chest. He lays there for a moment; can pretend, for a split second when he’s pressed up against the man’s warmth, that everything is going to be okay.

But he knows this can’t be further from the truth.

Finally, he lifts his head, catching Matthias eyes in a gaze that is sharp and bright. “I love you.” Silas says with no hesitation in his voice at all. He isn’t sure if Matthias heard him the first time he said it, but now there’s no way he can pretend not to have heard. Still, Silas isn’t saying this expecting Matthias to say anything back. When he speaks again, it’s quicker than Matthias can form words in response to the admission. “I love you too much to fucking make you hate yourself or hate me.”

Silas is trembling when he lifts his weight off of Matthias; pulls himself into something passably dignified on the edge of the couch, distinctly out of Matthias’ personal space. Silas’ gaze shifts to the tv, then down to the melting ice cream on the table. His gut twists. “I want you, but I want you to want me back…not just the goddamn sex. You said you won’t lie to me?” And Silas’ gaze when he looks over at Matthias is hard, but just a little sad. “But you have no fucking problem lying to yourself. Isn’t that the worst part of this?”

He knows Matthias. Knows how little the man had thought of himself when they met. How he thought he deserved random guys and random sex in bars just for a place to stay. He wouldn’t impose himself on Silas; wouldn’t even stay at the apartment without Silas there. Matthias’ self-esteem wasn’t much better than Silas’, and now the hunter has made himself believe that it’s perfectly alright to lie to himself; pretend that he doesn’t want Silas; that it’s okay to hurt both of them by pulling away.

And there’s nothing Silas can do about it…nothing that’ll make him feel good about himself anyway.

The doctor pulls his knees to his chest, makes himself look small with his lingering doubt. He pale and his fingers grip desperately at his own legs and slacks so he doesn’t reach out to Matthias again, because he isn’t sure he can stop himself again. Pulling away the first time had been the single hardest thing Silas ever had to do. “Can leave now if you want.” Because why the hell would the other man want to stay now, after all this? Silas wants Matthias to stay. That should be evident enough with the trembling sadness in his voice, but he’s trying so hard not to touch Matthias that he can’t seem to look him in the eyes. He’s giving Matthias a clear out. A way to leave without guilt or sadness or regret; a way that he can live with himself.

Even if he can’t live with Silas.